


The Regency

by westb0und



Category: Thundercats (2011)
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Minor Character Death, sexual content between teens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westb0und/pseuds/westb0und
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series AU. When Claudus meets an untimely death, Tygra becomes regent of Thundera in his little brother's name.  He struggles to rule the kingdom during a mysterious epidemic while maintaining an illicit romance, keeping up with the political intrigue, and trying to keep his relationship with Lion-O from shattering completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Regency

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: as this story begins, Tygra is 16.5 and Lion-O is 14 (but I believe I left Lion-O's age ambiguous enough that you should be able to insert whatever age you feel he should be); the age of majority in Thundera is 17. Panthro and Grune have not yet been sent on their quest for the Book of Omens. There will be mature (not explicit) content between teenage characters in future chapters--I will warn readers adequately beforehand. Expect a lot of people dying off screen (nothing graphic) and a few people dying on-screen (semi-graphic).
> 
> Edited by Cheetahs, with the author's sincerest thanks; I also greatly appreciate all the people who took the time to critique this. Any and all remaining mistakes are the author's own.

Tygra read a draft of the latest act of the Royal Council alone in his room, delivered to him by the Council especially.  He slowly sat back in his chair, numb, while the drumming of an early spring storm filled his ears.  Running both hands through his hair, Tygra closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing.

When he opened his eyes again, he had to blink several times.  He sank forward and rested his elbows on his desk until he could feel the curve of his shoulder blades straining against his shirt.  Time became insignificant; the storm dragged on and filled his world.

Tygra's brooding was interrupted by the _bang_ of his bed chamber door hitting the wall, which preceded the sound of his brother storming in.  "Tygra!  They won't let me in to see Father!"

Tygra sighed and didn't move.  He could feel a headache forming.  He spoke to the act on his desk, voice dull.  "Lion-O, we've had this conversation about knocking multiple times."

Lion-O stopped just an arm's length away from his brother.  "I need to see Father.  Make them let me in."

Tygra bared his teeth, still speaking to his desk.  "He's sick, you little idiot."

"I don't care.  I haven't seen him in ages, but _Lynx-O_ got to talk to him this morning--"

"I haven't seen him, either, Lion-O."

"How come Lynx-O got to see him?  This isn't _fair_."

"He's general of the army.  And life isn't fair."

Lion-O made an impatient noise, crossing his arms across his narrow chest.  "Bobcat's the senior guardsman at Father's door.  He _always_ does what you say.  You can tell him to let us in—"

"I _can't_!  I'm not in charge here," Tygra snarled.  The words left him with a sudden ache in the region of his heart.

"But—"

"We can't go in to see Father because we might catch the sickness," Tygra spat.  "Do you want to end up like Jaga?"  As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze.

Lion-O fell silent.

After several heartbeats passed, Tygra lifted his head and turned in his chair to face his brother.

Lion-O's face was turned to the side, eyes narrowed to blue slits.  Even with his brother's face turned away, Tygra could see his eyes were wet.  He opened his mouth to say something, to say anything — to take it back, maybe — but no words formed.  So he closed it again.

Lion-O bounced back quickly, though.  Blinking several times, he took a shuddering breath, lifted his chin, and redirected his gaze at Tygra.  "So what are you doing?" he asked after a beat, letting his arms fall to his sides.

Tygra sighed through his nose and turned back to his desk.  "Nothing."

"You seem kinda depressed."

"Since when do you care?"

"Is it Father?"

"What?"

"Is it something to do with Father?"

"No."  That was a lie.  It had _everything_ to do with their father, in all the worst ways.  Tygra was almost overcome with a sudden wave of loathing for the Royal Council.  _You two-faced, usurping, anti-royalist bastards—_

"What does 'minority' mean?"

Tygra's head snapped up.  He moved abruptly, flipping the act over on his desk.  "Mind your own business," he snapped.

Lion-O looked heavenward and showed his palms, backing away in a rare show of wisdom.  He wandered over to Tygra's bed and flopped down on it, bouncing.  "I'm so tired," he sighed, running both hands through his mane much the way Tygra had.

Tygra turned the act back over and carefully gathered the papers together into a neat stack.  He was once more accosted by the large, bold letters at the top of the first page:  IN LIGHT OF THE KING'S ILLNESS AND MINORITY OF HEIR TO THE CROWN.  He turned the papers back over.  "Then go to bed," he growled, "in your _own_ room."

"I don't want to."

"Not my problem."

A brief silence filled the air between them.  Lion-O spoke into it, his voice brittle and low.  "People are standing outside again."

Tygra understood.  Whenever a king falls ill, there’s always a small group of people who immediately think he’s going to die; the princes were used to that. But their father had been bedridden for almost nine weeks, and his sorcerer, the greatest wizard Thundera had ever known, had just fallen to the disease. The populace had assumed accordingly, and lately had been showing up at night in the palace’s spacious courtyard with lit candles to stand vigil for their king. Apparently, not even driving rain could keep them away. Lion-O’s room afforded an excellent view of the courtyard, so of course, he had an excellent view of the mourners. Tygra couldn’t blame him for being uncomfortable with it. It’s hard to sleep with a glowing reminder of your father’s impending death standing outside your window.

Nevertheless, Tygra had problems of his own sitting on his desk and he didn't need Lion-O sticking his nose into them.  "Just close your curtains," he grumbled.

"They're still there."

"So?  Ignore them.  They aren't hurting anything."

Lion-O didn't respond to that.

Tygra turned to face Lion-O, adopting an impassive expression.  "You're scared of them, aren't you."

Lion-O frowned and sat up.  "No, I'm not."

"Oh, you are.  You totally are.  Bet you're too scared to go back to your room with a bunch of people staring up at your window."

"Shut up!  I'm not _scared!_ "

"What a little scaredy-cat."  Tygra tipped his face to the side and affected the same tone of voice he had heard mothers use on their infants.  "Do the scary candles wake the poor baby up?"

"Shut _up!_ " Lion-O repeated, on his feet in an instant.

Tygra smirked.  It was amusingly easy to make Lion-O angry.

But Lion-O wasn't done.  "I'm not scared," he continued, " _I'm_ the heir to the kingdom of Thundera!"

Tygra's smirk vanished; that hollow ache in his heart returned, stealing his breath.  He stood just as abruptly as Lion-O had.  "Get out."

Lion-O took a step back — not out of cowardice, but to drop into a fighting stance.

Tygra wasn't in the mood for another tussle with his irritating little brother.  He lurched forward, grabbed Lion-O's arm, and yanked him off balance.  In the brief moment when Lion-O moved to regain his feet, Tygra began dragging him to the door.  "I said," he snarled, throwing the door open, "get _out!_ "  He shoved his brother into the corridor.

Lion-O stumbled but did not fall.  He turned and opened his mouth, clearly determined to continue the fight, but Tygra interrupted him. “See that I’m not disturbed _again_ ,” he snapped to the guardsman standing at his door. Then he slammed the door shut. He ignored Lion-O’s muffled protests and marched back to his desk, dusting his hands off.

The papers on his desk had been knocked askew by the displaced air of his door opening and closing so quickly; the first page was on the floor, its title just as loud and unforgiving as the first time he’d read it.

Tygra bent and picked it up gingerly. He brought it back to his desk and shuffled the papers back into order. Then he set them down carefully. After a minute, he heaved a deep sigh and collapsed on his bed.

Tygra had never doubted that he would make a better king than Lion-O; that fact had been painfully clear to the kingdom at large before Lion-O had reached his tenth year. But the Royal Council weren’t asking him to be better than Lion-O; they were asking him to be as good as Claudus. That was impossible!

He turned his head and looked at his desk again. The papers were almost invisible from this angle, but he could place their exact location without needing to see. _In Light of the King_ _’s Illness and Minority of Heir to the Crown_.

He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath.  Did he have it in him to be Regent of Thundera?


End file.
